I'm Here For You
by FiTeamFreeWill
Summary: Kyoya Ootori can take what's inflicted upon him. He's always done that. But one can only bear so much burden for so long...trigger warning for self-harm and depression, with mentions of rape and child abuse. Slight Kyotama (or Tamakyo, if you prefer) at the end, but it's mostly platonic.
**I know there have been lots of fics like this, but I thought I'd give it my own little twist. This isn't really Tamakyo, but it's there a bit at the end. Hope you enjoy, in any case. Anyways, I'll shut up now. Thanks for reading, lovelies!**

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Kyoya Ootori was used to this sort of treatment. It wasn't his father's fault he'd messed up, after all. He was only getting the punishment deserving of such a mistake. There wasn't any reason to be upset over this kind of thing.

It was alright when his father hit him, belittled him for that "ridiculous little club of his." He didn't mind the bruises so much. But when his brothers joined in on the fun, well, that was what pushed Kyoya over the edge.

His father always turned a blind eye to what his brothers did to him. Whether they hit him, taunted him, or even forced themselves upon him, it was always the same response from his father: "Man up. You're an Ootori. You can take it." The truth was, he _couldn't_ take it; how was one, even one such as himself, supposed to handle being terrified of your own family? How was one supposed to do anything but hate themselves and those around them?

Before his brothers had gotten truly horrifying, Kyoya had been able to take it with blinked back tears and gritted teeth. There was only so much he could take, however. His brothers cornered him in his room one night and took turns hitting him, before stripping him of his clothes and forcing themselves upon him. That was the night he'd snapped, shutting himself in the bathroom and spending hours carving deep, thin scars into his own arms.

He had been sitting on the carpet – which was, unfortunately, a bright white color – in a small pool of his own blood, when his cell phone rang, spewing the tinny sound of "Sakura Kiss." Of course Tamaki would call _now._ He sighed and picked up; Tamaki would only continue to call and then demand an explanation the next day, and Kyoya didn't have the energy to make up a lie to his best friend.

"Kyoya, I've just had the most _wonderful_ idea! You, me, and the host club are going to take a trip to _America_! We'll see the Statue of Liberty, and the Golden Gate Bridge, and-" Tamaki began excitedly.

"I can't talk right now. You can call Hikaru and Kaoru and talk to them about your foolish ideas," Kyoya said raggedly, cutting him off

Tamaki immediately sensed that something was wrong. "What's going on? Kyoya, are you okay? Is it your father?"

"No. Tamaki, just...don't worry. I'll see you in school," Kyoya replied. He was unable to keep a slight hitch out of his tone.

"You know I can't 'not worry'. I'm coming over, right now. You're going to tell me what's going on, okay?"

"Tamaki, my father will-"

"I'm coming over, Kyoya."

"No. I'll see you in school."

Kyoya hung up before Tamaki could say another word. He sat on the floor for a long while, unwilling and unable to move. He heard a tapping coming at his window. Again, he found himself unable to even stumble a few feet to where the tapping was. He simply sat there, letting the blood from his arms run in rivulets. Eventually, Tamaki forced his window open from the outside and climbed inside Kyoya's bedroom.

Tamaki gasped in horror as he took in the scene: Kyoya's ruined clothes scattered around the room; his friend wearing nothing but a pair of old sweat pants; the bruises covering his torso and neck; the blood leaking from the numerous cuts on his forearms; the empty, sorrowful look on his friend's face.

"Kyoya! Qu'est-il arrivé , mon ami ?" Tamaki said, slipping into French, as he often did when he was overly upset.

"Oh, Tamaki. I told you not to come," Kyoya replied. He sounded so far away; it made Tamaki want to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him.

"Bien sûr, je suis venu! Je l'ai dit je le ferais, non?" said Tamaki.

Kyoya sighed. "You're speaking French, Tamaki. I don't know what you're saying."

"Right, sorry. That happens when I get upset, such as right now, as I'm seeing my best friend in a pool of his own blood and covered in bruises. What happened?"

"It's nothing. You didn't have to come, you know. I would've been fine without you."

"It's obviously not nothing, or you wouldn't be cutting your wrists open. Now, give me the razor, and tell me what's going on," Tamaki said forcefully. He sat down on the rug next to his friend and yanked the blade out of his hand. Then, he wrapped his arms around Kyoya and waited for an explanation. Kyoya attempted to squirm out of his grip for a moment, but gave up and lay limp in his friend's embrace.

"My father's always been...forceful, let's call it, with his discipline. It was brutal, yes, but always deserved and never so brutal that the pain lasted for more than a few days. I could handle that. My brothers, though..." Kyoya trailed off, a sob rising in his throat again. Tamaki hugged him tighter and whispered encouragements. Kyoya swallowed his pain, as he was used to doing, and continued: "My brothers decided they would follow after my dad. They...they cornered me...they hit me, over and over, and-and then they...and then they..."

Kyoya found himself unable to go on, but Tamaki could take a guess as to what he meant. (Tamaki was an idiot, but a surprisingly perceptive one.) "Shh. C'est d'accord. Je suis là maintenant," said Tamaki soothingly. Kyoya began to sob into Tamaki's shirt.

"Why do they hate me? Why am I not good enough?" the raven-haired boy sobbed.

"It doesn't matter why they hate you. You are good enough, they just don't realize. You're amazing, and perfect, and people aren't always going to realize that," Tamaki told him. Kyoya just sobbed harder.

Tamaki gently lifted his friend from the floor and carried him over to his bed. He laid beside his friend, wrapping his arms around him again, and began to sing, softly: "Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot, prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot. Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu, ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de Dieu." It was a French lullaby his mother had sung to him every night as a small child, and whenever he was sick or had a nightmare when he grew older.

Kyoya had ceased his crying. Slowly, with Tamaki's soft singing in his ears, he fell into an uneasy sleep. Tamaki pressed a small kiss to his forehead. "Dormez bien, mon chéri," he whispered, before falling asleep right along with him. That night was the first night Kyoya slept soundly in weeks.

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 **A/N: A lot of you don't speak French, so here's what Tamaki said: "Qu'est-il arrivé , mon ami? = What's happened, my friend?" "Bien sûr, je suis venu ! Je l'ai dit je le ferais, non? = Of course I came! I said I would, didn't I?" "C'est d'accord. Je suis là maintenant = It's alright. I'm here." "Dormez bien, mon chéri = Sleep well, my darling."**

 **Let me know what you think! Characters too OOC? Constructive criticism is the greatest gift you can give a writer (besides coffee), so please, don't be afraid to point out the - numerous - flaws! Love ya!**


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